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First names were most often used by childhood or school friends. If the friendship was made after school age, first names would only really be used by women. Men were far more likely to refer to their friends by their surnames, a mark of familiarity. — Documentation

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Emilia Wright for Jude Wright. Casually alienating offspring since 18882.
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D

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Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.


August 31st, 888 — Black Lake
The fog had lifted and with it the ability to go about during the day time. It was depressing, really but he was glad that Clarence was now safe. It had been wonderful to take advantage of the ability to travel during the day but he had discovered that he missed the sun. It felt like it had been forever since he had seen it though he had only been a vampire for a few, short years.

From this part of the Black Lakes shoreline, he could see the glistening lights of the township. His lover lived there, his family that did not acknowledge his presence anymore, his school friends, everyone that he had known lived there. The young vampire could not help but sulk a little, just missing life.

Hearing a branch crack under what sounded like someones foot, his attention whipped towards the sound.

Relief as it had been to get back to London for a few weeks again, there was the lingering pull of responsibility that was doomed to drag Ishmael back from all the city's stimulation. Not that he had ever felt particularly bound by responsibility (besides in loyalty to the rest of Monty's crew) - he was not entirely interested, after all, in spending his days policing his own kind up in the forest - but Azazel, for one, was his responsibility. He was loath to say it, but she had already made a very public kill in the park since finding him here; so apparently responsibilities could not be permanently neglected.

Azazel was not the only wildcard up at the caverns right now, either, and while Ishmael couldn't care less what the rest of them were up to, if their activities threatened to infringe more severely upon the rest of their freedoms, he might have a problem. He'd noted the absence of a few of the vampires from around the caverns when the sun set tonight. Best take a stroll, Ishmael decided, after a gratuitous roll of his eyes.

He padded down towards the lake shore, his gaze drifting across and along its banks to the castle, distant, and the park in the village - at last emptier than it had been all summer, the carnival having finally left. This stretch of shore was not so deserted, Ishmael noted with a prick of interest, spotting a figure he recognised.

He might've stolen up more quietly, but any vampire's hearing was better than the average human's and, besides, a moment's warning of his approach was a small speck of courtesy, given his failure otherwise to resist intruding upon the scene. "Just me," Ishmael said, sly and a little sing-song, entirely bemused by what Lancaster might be doing out here, alone. "Something to see?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow through the darkness.

(At least he didn't have a human with him, Ishmael supposed.)  

Dimitri relaxed somewhat when he recognized the older vampire. At least it wasn't that creepy kid vampire. He rather avoided them, finding them way too creepy for him to tolerate. Who the hell turned kids anyway? Sure, he might have been considered one by most but at least he had finished puberty.

"No. Just the village itself." He missed it and he was not so practiced at concealing his emotions to hide the wistfulness in his tone. What he wouldn't give to be able to at least publicly appear to be Clarence's friend without dinging his beloveds reputation. As it was, Clarence kept getting and looking older while Dimitri was forever etched as a particularly pale and gaunt eighteen year old.

Ishmael got it. He'd been alive a long while, knew how things could be. There was a lot of time to be wasted.

Still, this? Moping about on the lakeshore, staring at the fuzzy lamplighted halo of Hogsmeade through the night... This tedium seemed like almost too much of a waste; although evidently it was having an effect on the other vampire, judging by his tone. Ishmael came to a meandering halt, glanced across at the village critically. "Why?" He inquired, bemused. He'd - he, and Dimitri, and even Azazel, even the Little Girls had - been there before, whenever he so pleased; besides the sunshine, and the horde of humans, there was nothing else preventing them exploring the place.

Not that there was that much to explore. It was a tiny place, technically - and certainly, magic was interesting, but Lancaster had not been lacking magic long enough to possibly find that a novelty, as far as Ishmael knew. "Did you use to live there?" Ishmael added, furrowing his brow, not sure that had been the case or that this was something as simple as homesickness. Though he wasn't sure: he had a hard enough time keeping track of his own history, let alone the others'.  

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